


Règles

by vipjuly



Series: Débridé [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alienist Hannibal, BAMF Beverly Katz, Creature Hannibal, Dark Will Graham, Doctor Alana, F/M, Genderfluid Will Graham, M/M, VERY brief and VERY hallucinatory non graphic Will/Margot, creature Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29046447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: There are people who follow the rules, regarding Sweet William, to the letter- and there are some unfortunate souls  Sweet William bends to break.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Débridé [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2130201
Comments: 17
Kudos: 89





	Règles

**Author's Note:**

> character and world building.  
> please read the prequel! i mean you don't have to, to each their own but. y'know.

**_1:_** Do not touch Sweet William.

"You're the best alienist on the Eastern seaboard, Hannibal. It does no one any good to be so stuffy about accepting patients."

Alana Bloom's alto voice rang through the foyer of Count Lecter's mansion. She was dressed in royal blue, her crinoline a touch too large on her small frame, puffing out her rear in a nearly comical manner. Her eyebrows were knit with frustration, her cheeks rosy, her red painted lips turned down in disapproval. The hat perched on her dark, curly locks was slightly askew, wind-blown and yet to be corrected. 

And she was furious.

"As an alienist," Count Lecter said blithely, "I have an obligation to ensure that I only take on patients who are out of options." He idly adjusted his cufflinks, clearly feeling himself above this conversation. 

Alana would have none of it. If she were a weaker woman she would have been quelled, but Alana was well-versed with the likes of Count Lecter, having been one of the few people in the city to bother to get to know him not only professionally, but courteously. "Peter has no one, doctor. An accident left him slow-minded and I'm afraid that without anyone to turn to, he will truly go mad and hurt someone."

"So perhaps he should be committed to a sanitorium," Count Lecter finally met Alana's gaze, cold as ice. He folded his hands neatly in front of himself. 

Wounded, Alana took half a step back. "You are a callous man, Hannibal Lecter."

"I alone would not be able to provide the care a slow-minded person needs. You know this, Miss Bloom. He will need 'round the clock care. A babysitter." Seeming to think for a moment, Count Lecter's cold eyes softened a fraction. "I will agree to see him for a referral. He would do well in Dr. Gideon’s care."

The wind left Alana's sails, tension bleeding from her body. "Thank you, doctor."

From the sitting room to the left, Sweet William emerged. He was dressed down in soft linen pants, brown in color, and a romantic sheer white shirt, the collar stretched low and the sleeves billowing. In one hand he held a dried strip of meat, a scruffy dog trailing after him with its nose in the air.

"Hello, Miss Bloom," he said with a small smile. His eyes were fathomless, a blue so deep Alana had only seen such a color while sailing in the Atlantic. His face was free of makeup, youthful and clear, day-old stubble on his jaw. He almost looked like a different person.

"Sweet William," she greeted in turn. She was fond of Sweet William, yet also deathly curious about the mystery surrounding him. 

There had been much mystery around Count Lecter first, though--one day he seemed to have just… appeared, this large mansion popped up from the earth's crust like a tree that was born fully grown. As far as anyone can recall, the mansion had always been in this spot, only noticeable when Count Lecter had moved in and restored it to its former glory. Count Lecter had fitted seamlessly into the social circles and, having thrown his own welcoming party, climbed his way to the very top of the social ladder, outranking the mayor, and perhaps even the governor. His aristocracy paired with his Eastern European accent was enticing enough to have people craving more.

Sweet William was a newer addition. While Count Lecter had been here for approximately five years, Sweet William had only been here for just shy of two. As easily as Count Lecter had insinuated himself into society, so did Sweet William, dutifully by his side. Exotic in his own way, Sweet William had a certain _je ne sais quoi_ about him that made common and academic minds vibrate with interest. He was polite in an odd, barbed sense, his pleasantries veiling what seemed to be insults that only he understood. 

The attitude rolled like water off of Alana’s back. Despite Sweet William’s personal amusement, he seemed to be fond of her in turn. 

Still, however. She did not fully meet his gaze. The one time she had… 

Sweet William tracked the shiver that went down her spine. He arched a brow in Count Lecter’s direction, “Have you offered the lady tea?” 

“Oh-” Alana waved a lace-gloved hand, suddenly flushing with embarrassment. She had barged in, bypassing the maid in order to shout at Count Lecter. She’d been quite rude, and she knew better than to be disrespectful in the Lecter estate. “I was asking Hannibal a favor. I should be on my way.” 

Sweet William lowered the dried meat in his hand to rest near his thigh. The dog sat on its haunches, licked his chops, and then stood perfectly still, staring at the meat without even blinking. He took a step closer. “Surely you have a moment so spare.” 

As usual, something about the men’s presence set her on edge. Despite her strong will, she still had her faltering moments. She tensed as he closed the distance between them. “Thank you, Sweet William. I will see you in a few days’ time when I bring the new patient by.” 

Sweet William contemplated her words for a moment, and then nodded and gave a slight incline with his head. “Miss Bloom.” 

“Miss Bloom,” Count Lecter echoed in dismissal. 

Skirts swishing on the floor, she hurried through the foyer to the front door where the maid was waiting for her, eager to put physical distance between herself and the mythical man. She cast one last, furtive glance over her shoulder. Sweet William’s pinky twitched, and then the meat fell from his hand. In a flash the dogs’ jaws snapped, catching the meat mid-air and chomping down on it like a feral animal. 

Sweet William and Count Lecter were smiling at one another.

\--

 ** _2:_** Do not engage Sweet William in flights of fancy.

“I often wonder what anyone could do for me, Dr. Lecter. I wonder if there is anything anyone _can_ do for me.” 

Margot Verger paced around Count Lecter’s gothic office, the leather chairs inviting but too cushiony for her liking. She wore a rider’s outfit, cropped pants with tall boots, a vest over her corset. Her suit jacket was hung on the coat stand near the door, and her hair was fixed in two pretty braids that swung across her back as she walked. 

“There are some situations, Margot, in which our own faculties are the best tools at hand.” Count Lecter sat regally in his chair, legs crossed, fingers laced over his knee as he watched Margot pace. She likened him frequently to a lion. Whenever he watched her pace, she felt like the gazelle. 

“And what shall you suggest?” 

“What do you _want_ to do?” 

“I would-” she clenched her fists in front of her, staring at her white knuckles. “I would steal his last breath.” She was long past being shocked at her thoughts, though voicing them out loud felt like an entirely different beast.

“What is stopping you from doing just that?” 

The way Count Lecter asked such a horrendous question gave Margot pause. She stopped in her pacing, regarding the doctor with narrow eyes. He met her gaze placidly. “Would you prescribe me murder, doctor?” 

“Difficult problems require difficult solutions.”

Her narrowed eyes relaxed into mild surprise. For a moment she indulged in the fantasy; of slitting her brother’s throat, watching the light leave his eyes. Or perhaps hiring an outlaw- she heard they sometimes pass through the big cities looking for work. 

She shook herself free from such reverie. “There are complications. If Mason dies, I do not get the company. A woman,” she said the word with perhaps as much vile as Mason would, “has no place in a man’s word.” 

“What about an heir?” Count Lecter asked casually. His right hand reached toward the desk snugged close to his chair, fingers picking up a feather quill and dipping it into some ink. 

At that, Margot frowned toward the doctor. “Need I remind you, doctor, that my proclivities lie elsewhere than with that of a boorish man.” 

“Then someone not boorish should provide the seed.” The doctor wrote a few things down, then put the quill in its holder. He smiled warmly to Margot. “Sweet William?” 

The question confused her. Her confusion morphed into understanding when the elegant Sweet William came through the glass-paned double doors of the office, drawn in by Count Lecter’s call. Had he been waiting outside? Count Lecter hadn’t risen his voice at all. 

Count Lecter gestured to his beautiful ward much like an admirer to a charming painting. “You two have met.” 

Margot blinked a few times. Sweet William was wearing only a black silk robe, the oriental flowers strewn across the material blood-red in color. He was barefoot, as he always was, and his eyes flickered with interest before Margot forced herself to look away from them. Blood rushed to her cheeks, embarrassment rooting itself deep in her belly. The presence of Sweet William was intoxicating even to her, his clean skin bringing in the scent of flowers and hemp. 

“ _Doctor Lecter_ -” she hissed, her eyes fixed to the rug under her feet. “Are you suggesting that Sweet William and I join in union?” 

“I see only benefits,” Count Lecter said rationally. “You have ill feelings towards men, yet you find yourself in need of an heir.” She snuck a peek up to Sweet William, who looked unearthly with the black silk finery draped over his pale, soft skin. “Sweet William can provide you with what you need. And he is no mere man, Margot. He is _the_ solution.” 

Reaching a hand up to cover her eyes, Margot breathed through the panic winding its way through her body. What an _outrageous_ suggestion! Count Lecter might be a little insane, himself! To offer his own lover for- for such a base act!

“Miss Verger.” 

Sweet William’s voice was like notes of the wind, drifting around her. She inhaled deeply through her nose, the feminine musk of his skin wafting into her senses. He was closer now, she could tell, the very air near her shifting to accommodate him. Taking a few cleansing breaths, exhaling the worries and inhaling Sweet William, Margot very slowly removed her hand from her eyes, stunned to see Sweet William standing directly in front of her. Small horns poked free from wild dark curls. So close, her knees weakened, as though the energy had been sapped from her body.

Sweet William caught her in arms as strong as a tree’s. She grasped at his robe, the material so expensive and neat it didn’t even wrinkle under her trembling fingers. She felt small in his arms, comforted and secure, her nose pressed against his bare collarbone as she allowed him to take her weight. Perhaps… perhaps it _wasn’t_ so outrageous, Count Lecter’s suggestion? Sweet William was unlike any man Margot had ever come across in her life. Very often she wondered if he was even real- and she knew she was not the only one in the city to wonder. 

“ _Calmez-vous_ ,” Sweet William’s dulcet voice washed over her. The smell of flowers intensified. She was aware of his hands caressing her body gently, comfortingly. She felt drunk on the cacophony of sensations, a pleasant haze clouding up her mind.

A hand drew down her stomach. Sweet William’s palm pressed against her navel, then against the softness of her belly where her womb would grow with child. His fingers slid down, down… she gasped when he pressed in a place that sent pressure through her limbs, hands flying to clutch at his shoulders. The little noises that fell from her lips intensified as he rubbed her, slowly at first, then more insistently. 

"Ah-" Drunk on the ambrosia wafting off of Sweet William's skin, huffing it like a drug, Margot saw stars behind her closed eyes. In an instant his fingers were inside of her trousers, pushing into her, probing and pressing and curling her toes. She was wet, the slick sounds assaulting her ears, too good for her to feel embarrassed. 

Was she on her feet? Was she seated? Lying down? She was weightless, her only connection to the earth where Sweet William's fingers and thumb worked her. For a breathless moment she was empty, and then so full she felt as though she were about to burst. A ragged cry left her lips, pleasure so sharp and beautiful her entire body caught fire. Was he inside her? Or was he consuming her?

Vibrations rumbled through her floating limbs. She felt release nearing, madness overtaking her mind, pleasure like this never felt before. She gasped, she panted, she whined, her fingers found purchase in flesh, nails piercing through and down to the bone, blood and gore dripping down her wrists and arms.

She screamed. 

She collapsed. 

When she came to, she was laid out on the leather chaise. Her entire body felt buzzed in the way only an orgasm could cause, her skin flushed and sweat on her brow. She was fully dressed, not even a hair out of place on her head, as clean as when she had entered the office. 

Sweet William was nowhere to be seen.

Sitting up abruptly, she blinked against the spots in her vision as she said, panicked, "What just happened?"

Count Lecter, seated as he had been for their whole meeting, looked at her with concern. "I'm afraid I was too crass with my suggestion. You fainted." He offered a small, consoling smile. "Would you like some tea?"

Without shame she patted herself down. She was in one piece. She was… dry. Had she dreamt of Sweet William?

The maid arrived with a tray. She checked Margot's temperature with the back of her cool hand, then offered a matronly smile as she fixed her a cup of chamomile. As quickly and quietly as she came, she left. 

"I… apologize," Margot said softly, her normally raspy voice dried out. As though she had been screaming. She gently wrapped her fingers around her throat, massaging. She took a sip of tea. 

"I'll send for a taxi," Count Lecter suggested. 

"I can ride," Margot insisted. In silence she finished her tea, her strength returning. Once she was able she stood, feeling an odd sort of rejuvenation. She brushed her bangs free from her eyes. "I apologize again, doctor. I am not usually so affected by… impolite conversation."

"It was foolish of me to suggest. Next week we may begin more reasonable problem solving." He stood, buttoning his suit jacket. He towered over her, offering a warm smile as he guided her out of the office with a hand on the small of her back. She could have sworn, in the changing of the light, that small antlers broke free from his straw-colored hair.

At the door he bid her farewell, and the stable boy brought her horse. She shook out her limbs, stretched some, then swung up into the saddle, pulling the riding crop free from the reins. One last thoughtful look at the mansion, her head a strange contrast of clear and fogged, she set off.

Four weeks later, she became violently ill.

Eight weeks later, her belly swelled. 

She accepted the gift.

By the tenth week, Mason Verger was found trampled in the stables.

\--

 ** _3:_** Do not, under any circumstances, hold eye contact with Sweet William.

The one person in the world outside of Count Lecter to see the most of Sweet William was Beverly Katz. She was a forward-thinking woman, ahead of her time, as many would say with false politeness in their voice. She was a woman of science, educated and experienced. Sweet William met with her often, for tea or for strolls. He enjoyed engaging her in debates as well as gaining knowledge of anything and everything she was learning in her world. The industrial revolution was upon them, machinery replacing commonplace items and thrusting them into the future. Beverly had a motorcar, a rattly, noisy thing that she often cursed at with a less than delicate mouth. Sweet William considered her a friend, perhaps his only one, and she was honored to wear the title. 

In turn, Beverly learned things about Sweet William. Nothing expressly given, as she knew better than to ask him specific questions--he nevertheless was amused at her creative prodding, dodging outright answers and instead wrapping the mystery up tighter by supplying vagaries. But Beverly was a scientist, and she, more than the common, uneducated person, was versed at reading between the lines, and had unmatched stamina that helped her persist in her curiosities. 

The one thing that she seemed unable to follow through on, however, were the depths of Sweet William’s eyes. It was as though those pretty blue orbs held galaxies within, endless and ongoing for forever, a true and uncanny sensation of falling swooping through her gut every time she looked into them. Most everyone just plain avoided his eyes, that sensation causing vertigo and nausea of unparalleled caliber. Beverly, however, had learned to stomach it. She could now look into Sweet William’s eyes for three-point-two seconds, a personal best. Every time she met his gaze he held it steadfast, and every time it felt like a piece of her soul was breaking off and being sucked into the black hole of his being--yet she endured.

For science.

There was not a single person on this Earth like Sweet William, Beverly thought, and perhaps there never had been, and never would be again. He was an anomaly. Sometimes she was sure he wasn’t human; when the shadows caught in his wild curls and twin horns pushed through the locks, wide at the base and pointy at the tip, little spikes jutting from them at random angles. His countenance was best described as unearthly, as though he were doing his best impersonation of what he thought a human might be. He was sharp around the edges, bordering on rude, occasionally twitchy, but so perceptive Beverly often thought his mind was wasted outside of higher education. He could truly be something.

Well--he was _something_.

Beverly was determined to know what, precisely. 

On a beautiful afternoon they were spread out in a grassy meadow on a blanket, indulging in a picnic Count Lecter had thoughtfully packed for them. Conversation with Sweet William was so easy at times, Beverly would momentarily overlook his oddities. She knew she was privileged, to see this side of him. She continued to tread carefully, but at this point in their friendship, she knew that Sweet William was onto her. 

“How does Count Lecter find the time to do all of this?” Beverly asked, gesturing idly to the spread. There were crostinis, fresh fruit and cured meats, an array of cheese, treats of dark chocolate chopped into bite sized pieces. An admirable charcuterie. “He’s an alienist, isn’t he? Does he not have a lot of patients?” 

Sweet William shifted, bunching the black linen dress he was wearing so that it pooled in his lap modestly when he sat with his legs crossed. The lace detail was delicate and formidable all at once, classic and elegant. A casual outing dress for him, but a dinner party fashion for most others. He pulled his long sleeves up slightly, bunching the material at his elbows. “Count Lecter always finds time for the things he enjoys. Food tends to be his number one priority.” 

“I’m not complaining,” Beverly said with a grin. She packed a crostini with meat and cheese, biting into it with a satisfied hum. “I’m surprised you’re not fat.” 

Sweet William was the only one in this godforsaken city that didn’t even blink at Beverly’s crass attitude and words. Instead he smiled wryly, picking up an apricot. “Gluttony is a sin exclusive to man. Only a human will eat beyond their stomach’s content.” 

The odd words would have sat strangely with anyone else, but Beverly tucked away that tidbit for later. “Well, if Count Lecter keeps providing us with food, consider me on the road to obesity.” 

Sweet William only chuckled. Beverly leaned back on her hands once they were free of food, tilting her head back to look up at the sky. She was the only woman she knew who chose to wear pants daily--it was more convenient in the labs for her to dress in a more manly fashion, as some of the chemicals she handled would probably light a dress up in seconds. Plus, she preferred to breathe without hindrance, and corsets tended to shrink her lung capacity _and_ her concentration. 

“What’s Louisiana like?” She asked.

“Hot,” Sweet William replied dryly.

She dipped her chin down to send him a sarcastic smile, nudging his knee with the tip of her boot. “Ha, ha.” Rolling her eyes, she looked up at the sky again. “Which part are you from?”

“The bayou.” Normally his accent was hidden, as he talked so infrequently, but the drawling way he said the word ‘bayou’ had Beverly’s ears pricking.

“No city name?” 

“I do not come from a city,” Sweet William said. “The bayou is its own entity. It lives outside of cities and towns.”

She grinned with teeth. “So you’re a wild child.” 

“One could say.”

“How did you end up with Count Lecter?”

“He called for me,” Sweet William said, “and I went to him.” Evasive and vague as ever, Sweet William bit into the juicy apricot, some liquid spilling from the corner of his mouth to dribble down his chin. Beverly lowered her chin once more to catch his gaze, and in the three seconds she was able to hold it, she felt the ground open up beneath her, a great, dark maw rumbling and roaring as it tried to suck her in, the very air around them vibrating brilliantly.

She cut her gaze away. The world was normal once more. “Would you ever go back?” 

Sweet William was quiet for a moment. He fiddled with the apricot thoughtfully, and then said, “I cannot go back.” 

For a moment, her heart ached for him. He looked out of place, for a tick, in this sprawling meadow of tall grass and sparse trees. A wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of a bouquet and a few pink-and-white flower petals, two or three getting caught up in Sweet William’s dark, wild locks. He paid them no mind. He gaze flickered to her, and this time when it held, she saw his hair part and lengthen, two pointed horns growing longer and longer until they branched into great, terrifying antlers, the sound of them cracking and snapping echoing on the wind as Beverly stayed frozen to the spot, rooted by fear at seeing this _creature_ in front of her, magnificent and horrendous and beautiful and--

She blinked. 

Sweet William was leaning back on a palm, casually eating the apricot, his tongue peeking out every now and again to collect the juices on his lips. 

A tremble shook Beverly for a beat, and then she cleared her throat softly. Surely that was just some odd trick of her brain, she thought, paranoia about not knowing anything about Sweet William fueling a strange hallucination. 

“Your home is here, now,” she said softly, somehow feeling like those words needed to be said. 

He sent her a lazy, lidded, sated look, tiny stars dancing in his eyes. “My home is here.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is just very self indulgent for me tbh. dunno how many parts to this series there's gonna be but!!!!! many,,,,, i assume.


End file.
